


Camp Hale

by gwen (gwennoble)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennoble/pseuds/gwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles are best friends and camp counsellors at Camp Hale, where they’ve been going since they were little kids. This year, something seems different between them... or at least Scott wishes something would be different. Juggling a crush, a cabin full of eight year olds, and a sour faced head counsellor, Scott has a lot on his plate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Camp Hale

**Author's Note:**

> I could not have completed this fic without the help of my amazing artist, thewildestcucumber, and my beta, Lucas! This process has been a whirlwind of procrastination, inspiration, and community, and it was an awesome experience. Enjoy!

                    

“You have your pillow? And your sleeping bag? Did you remember to pack your inhaler?”

Scott sighs as he buckles his seatbelt, rolling his eyes at his mom across the car, “Yes, Mom, I've triple checked the camp list. I have plenty of socks, lots of underwear, and enough sunscreen for three summers. I think I'm covered.”

Melissa McCall starts the car with finality, turning out of their driveway. “You know I like to be prepared, Scott, especially when you’re going to be spending the entire summer away from home. My little puppy is a counsellor now!”

“Moooom,” Scott groans, only half as annoyed as he's acting, “You don't need to worry about me. I'll call you once a week. And send letters. And, uh, carrier pigeons.”

“Hah hah, very funny. Don't forget the telegrams.”

Scott and his mom lull into a peaceful silence as they drive away from Beacon Hills, in the direction of Camp Hale. It's the summer camp that Scott has been visiting since before he could tie his shoes. He started going when his mom and dad were fighting all the time, when they knew as well as Scott did that he deserved a break from what was bound to be a messy divorce. Camp Hale was Scott's escape, and he spent the summer forgetting that his parents existed and finding new moms and dads - his counsellors. Of course, the summer ended with Melissa, and only Melissa, coming to pick Scott up, the news that his father had left heavy on her tongue. Regardless of how it had ended, the summer was only the beginning of Scott's love for Camp Hale; splashing around in the lake, falling out of trees, and seeing his best friend, Stiles.

Stiles lives eight towns away, and Scott only ever sees him in the summers. Scott wonders whether Stiles still has his buzz-cut, and if he's finally ready to get over Lydia, a fellow counsellor. Scott wonders, like he does every year, whether his best friend will have changed, whether he won't want to be friends anymore. Even though Stiles proves him wrong every year, Scott can’t quell the worry that settles like a bowling ball in his stomach.

When Stiles and Scott met, that first summer, they were both the youngest members of Cabin 4 – the Wolf Cubs. The rest of their cabin mates, who were nine and ten and had no time for two awkward seven year olds, practically forced them to be best friends. Stiles and Scott shared a bunk, paired up for activities, and helped each other write letters home. Stiles' mom was in the hospital a lot, he said, so he wrote her letters almost every day. Scott and him would go out into the woods behind their cabin and find flowers, leaves, a couple pebbles, to add to the envelope. When Stiles' mom ended up dying the week before summer ended, and Stiles had to go home early, he made Scott promise to come back the next year. Scott obviously did.

That started what seemed to be an inseparable friendship. In their third year at camp, they were almost put into different cabins, until the counsellors realized their mistake. After a painful five hours searching the woods for two best friend runaways, it was established that Scott and Stiles could not be split apart again. And they hadn't. For eight years, the two boys ruled Camp Hale; at least, they felt like they did. They were among the elite few campers that came back every year, a group that included the plucky Allison Argent and her bestie Lydia Martin, and a boy named Vernon who refused to be called anything but Boyd. There was a mysterious girl named Erica, whose disappearances every morning caused plenty of speculation, until she got fed up and told everyone about the medication she had to take for her epilepsy. Danny, the tech genius, hacked the counsellors-only wifi and charged twenty bucks to hand out the password, and Isaac spent all his time in the lake; he could hold his breath for a good five minutes, so rumours say. Malia, though socially inexperienced due to being home schooled, was a great dancer, and Kira was the queen of making flower crowns.

What's different this year is that Scott and all his camp friends are counsellors. For the past four years, they've been leaders-in-training, the weird limbo between camper and counsellor. This summer, though, is the real deal. They're in charge for two glorious months, and to top it off, Scott is looking forward to his minimum wage payments. Getting payed to go to the best place in the world? He isn’t complaining.

Scott is jolted out of his thoughts by the feeling of the smooth highway asphalt turning to gravelly country road under the wheels of the car. He sits upright, presses his face to the window as the familiar sights rush by; the diner he always stops by with his mom on the way home, the worn “Camp Hale; 3 Miles Ahead” sign, and the toppled pine tree that marks the bend in the road towards their destination.

Scott gets the familiar sinking feeling in his stomach, the growing nervousness at the thought of seeing everyone, of spending the next two months in camp bliss, and of course, finding Stiles.

He isn't hard to find. Melissa pulls into a parking space, and Scott immediately spots Stiles, wearing a hideously orange Camp Hale T-Shirt identical to Scott’s, emblazoned with the camp’s triskelion logo. Stiles is saying goodbye to his dad a few cars over, shouldering his backpack. Before the car has come to a full stop, Scott has his seatbelt undone and his car door open, and he is sprinting across the road towards his best friend. Stiles sees him at just about the same time, starts running towards him, and they collide in a massive bear hug.

The hug breaks after a wordless minute, and Scott steps back, notices that Stiles is taller than him now, and has grown his buzz out into a mess of hair. He beams up at him.

“Hey, Scotty,” Stiles grins back, ruffles his best friend's hair, “I fucking missed you!”

“Language!” Sheriff Stilinski says from behind them, chuckling at the same time.

The camp hasn't changed since last year; after the boys say goodbye to their parents, they walk along the trail that snakes through the trees. They pass the decrepit cabins, boys on one side facing the girls on the other. The soccer field hasn't been mowed yet, the grass up to their knees as they pass by, and the sunlight reflects off of the lake in their peripheral vision. Scott can see the archery range, the fire pit for sing-a-longs, and the hiking path that leads into the deep woods.

The boys chatter nonstop for a good twenty minutes or so, almost as though they don't text daily, and haul their bags to the dining hall overlooking the lake. They're pretty early, so they hang around the hall waiting for the other counsellors-to-be to show up. The dining hall smells like freshly waxed wood, and the benches are pushed against the far wall. The kitchens are empty, though Scott can easily bring to mind the vision of bubbling pots of chilli, of bacon sizzling, of toast popping, of the kitchen staff wearing grease and stains and smiles.

Danny's there first, followed by Erica and Boyd, then all the others. Scott notices that Allison and Lydia are holding hands; they must still be together after they started dating last summer. It's a good thing they only live an hour away from each other. Scott, with jealousy, is reminded of the two day trip it takes to reach Stiles.

They all hug, say hi, share stories about the school year, until Derek Hale shows up and hushes them. He's the son of Talia Hale, the owner of the camp, and everyone knows that he takes his Lead Counsellor duties very seriously. He's in charge of overseeing all the staff, making sure everything runs smoothly, and, most importantly to Scott and Stiles, Derek decides which two counsellors are assigned to each cabin. If he doesn't put them together, they might have to stage another escape in protest.

“Alright, everyone, listen up,” He says, holding a clipboard that he glances down at periodically, “I know that you're excited to be back at camp, but we only have one week to prep before all of the real campers show up. As you know, you'll each be paired up and sent either to the kitchens, or a cabin. Erica, Boyd, I know you two wanted to be cooks, so go for it,” Erica and Boys both exchange smiles, “Allison, Lydia, you're in charge of our eleven to fifteen year old girls, but I don't want to see any PDA in front of the campers, stay professional,” the love birds unclasped their hands at his words, “Malia and Kira, that means you two are with the seven to tens. I'm sure you'll do fine.”

That leaves Isaac, Danny, Scott, and Stiles. Scott has all of his fingers and toes crossed; he can see the same nervousness in Stiles' eyes. Derek glances at all the boys before continuing, “Scott, Stiles, I didn't want to put you two together, but I think having the tens and unders will keep you too busy for your usual mischief. You have the Wolf Cubs, Cabin 4. Danny and Isaac, that leaves you with the older boys.”

Stiles whoops and pumps his fist in the air, and he and Scott bump fists. Derek did a fine job allocating positions; everyone is happy as they join their partners and head over to their assigned cabin. Scott definitely feels some nostalgia as he steps through the door of Cabin 4, before he's assaulted by a cloud of dust that leaves him wheezing for breath.

“I don't know how we're expected to clean this cabin in a week, let alone do everything else to get ready,” Stiles comments, scrunching up his nose as he peers into the adjoining bathroom, “Derek's going to be working us from dawn 'till dusk.”

“That's okay, though,” Scott sits on one of the lower bunks, despite the suspicious smell of mildew rising from the sheets, “At least we get to be counsellors together!”

Stiles looks around the room, “Okay, so I'm thinking we go over the top with decorating this year. How about a Star Wars theme?”

“I'm not sure,” Scott says, “I don't think I've seen that movie.”

“Seriously? Still?” Stiles groans and flops down onto a bunk too, “Okay, how about a space theme in general? Or it that too cliched? Maybe cowboys, or super spies, or Disney's Frozen?”

“How about we just get Kira to make us some flower garlands, tape them to the wall, and make funny name tags for each of the kids to put on their bunk?”

“That works too.” 

The next week is a blur of sweeping, dusting, mopping, sign-making, list-reading, and training. They all renew their Red Cross lifesaving certificates, and learn what to do when a camper is homesick. They do team trust exercises, much to Derek's dislike, and Kira makes about fifty flower garlands for all the cabins. By the time the week is through, Camp Hale is spotless and Stiles and Scott have nothing left to do but hang out at the dock overlooking the lake and catch up on the last year the spent without one another.

“So you're going to college in September, right?” Scott asks Stiles, dangling his feet into the water and watching the tiny lake fish nibble at his toes.

“Yeah, I'm still debating between two schools, though. My mom always wanted me to be to be a cop, like my dad, but I'm thinking marine biology? Maybe I'll settle for both, y'know? Stiles Stilinski, Dolphin Detective.”

This makes Scott laugh, and he's reminded of why Stiles is his best friend. Nobody else can make Scott burst out laughing as well as Stiles can.

“How about you, Scotty?” Stiles shoots back, looking at Scott out of the corner of his eye, “I mean, you did alright on your SATs, you have work experience, you're a born leader. Any plans?”

“I really, honestly have no clue,” Scott sighs. His mom has been asking him the same thing for weeks, “I got accepted to a few places, and they need my confirmation by the end of the summer. I guess I'll just pick at random.”

Stiles glances down at his watch, and then back to the cabins, “I think inspection is gonna start soon. Wanna go get the annual Derek Hale responsibility lecture?” He stands and offers Scott a hand, which the other boy takes. Stiles hauls him to his feet, and they walk over to Cabin 4 to meet their fate.

Derek is already there when they arrive, peering at the boys’ cork board that they have adorned with various pictures of the boys as kids - Stiles looking defeated at age thirteen after their cabin lost the baseball tournament, Scott in their first year smiling with his chubby baby cheeks, a drawing of a palm tree the boys made together for their counselors when they were ten.

                                                          

Derek turns away when they enter, finger already skimming over windowsills. “There's dust here.” He says, glaring at the boys, “You didn't dust well enough.”

The inspection continues in the same way; the beds aren’t tucked in, there are spiderwebs in the bunks, and they really can’t ignore one of the bathroom’s two toilets, clogged beyond belief. After five minutes, Stiles and Scott already have another twenty things to do before nightfall. Before Derek leaves, he makes sure to remind the boys of their responsibilities as counsellors, how these kids depend on them, look up to them, and need them to be role models during this summer. They've been hearing the same thing since they were counsellors in training, and despite rolling their eyes, Scott and Stiles nod along to everything the older man says.

“This is really it, isn't it?” Stiles muses, after Derek has gone to terrorize another cabin, “Tomorrow we're counsellors. Real, breathing kids who are gonna depend on us are going to show up and expect us to know what we're doing. That's weird.”

Scott sits beside him, “It'll be okay; we're unstoppable. The kids are going to love us.”

Yawning, the boys make all the beds in the cabin and crawl into their own bunk at the back of the room. Stiles is on the top bunk, and dangles his head over the edge to see Scott before he turns off the light.

“I'm glad to be back at camp, buddy,” Stiles smiles at Scott upside down, “I spent all year being constantly reminded that I don't have any friends as good as you.”

The camp field, freshly mowed, is brimming with shouting, hyperactive kids. Scott, standing at the edge of the grass, counts at least four criers, clinging to their parents, and prays to any listening deities that none of these kids are under his charge. Stiles is at the other end of the field, and Scott ends up elbowing his fair share of parents to get over there. The taller boy is proudly brandishing the sign he and Scott made by hand the night before; a cutesy anthropomorphic wolf, full moon visible in the corner of the banner. The wolf has a speech bubble protruding from his mouth that reads, “Wolf Cubs Report For Duty! AWOOO!”. Scott doesn't have the heart to tell Stiles that the sign is hideous, because Stiles seems damn proud.

                                                     

There's already a couple of kids around Stiles, whose parents were obviously in a hurry to evacuate the camp, and, yep, fuck, one of them is wiping snot onto the back of his hand as tears streak down his face. A look from Stiles tells Scott that attempts have already been made to console repetitive, maybe use comfort the inconsolable child, so Scott doesn't bother mentioning the tears. He takes his position next to Stiles and says a simple “hey there!” to the boys that slowly make their way over to the two teens. Scott recognizes a few of them from the past couple of years, but most of them are younger, seven or eight.

Once they've counted twelve small children, and gone through the roll call, Stiles puffs himself up proudly and clears his throat, gearing up to give the welcome speech he's been practicing since last summer.

“Alright squirts, welcome to Camp Hale! As you can already see, you've been assigned to two amazing counsellors this summer. I'm Stiles, and I'm the guy you come to if you want a midnight snack or don't feel like doing sports one day. Beside me is my right hand man, Scott McCall. He's got more muscle than five of me, but he's a sweet guy, I swear. If anyone feels homesick, please refer to him instead of me,” Stiles delivers a pointed look at the still-crying boy who has been identified through roll call as Noah, “Today's a pretty lax day. We're going to do ice breakers, eat food, and conduct the grand camp tour. Let's go!”

The boys lead their charges to Cabin 4, and Stiles points out the camp landmarks, telling interesting (and mostly made up) Camp Hale history. When they reach their bunks and let the boys go in, Scott is surprised at how quickly twelve ten-and-unders can move. When the teens get in the cabin after the boys, most of the bunks are already claimed, and it only takes five minutes to assign beds to the less-swift movers.

After that, they do the ice-breakers that are more for the counsellor's benefit than the campers, because they know that they only have a day to learn all the names of these youngsters. They play two or three games for about forty-five minutes, and then lead the boys off yet again to go grab lunch. Scott suspects that being a counsellor is going to involve a lot of leading-the-group-around-camp.

Most of the cabins are already there, and the new leaders seem to be settling into their respective roles nicely. Erica and Boyd dish up macaroni casserole for everyone, aprons stained with cheese, and Malia is teaching a group of girls the Hoedown Throwdown. Danny is showing a preteen boy something on a 3DS, even though electronics are strictly prohibited at camp, and Lydia is explaining what sounds like a complex mathematical theory to a girl who, to Scott's frustration, seems to be understanding it way more than he ever would.

After everyone digs into their macaroni, Talia Hale walks into the hall, followed closely by her son. The counsellors fall quiet, and the campers, though some of them might not know why, follow suit. Talia rarely shows up to camp events, since she's working behind the scenes to keep everything running smoothly, and her presence is always revered. At the beginning of every summer, she greets the campers, and then might not be spotted for another week or so. She's a mysterious lady.

“Hi, everyone!” She gives a wave, and the campers respond in the same fashion, “As some of you newer additions may not know, I'm Talia Hale, the founder of this amazing summer camp. I wanted to bring family and friendship into one place, and wasn't inspired enough by any of the camps nearby. Camp Hale is a place for fostering growth, and bringing people together. I hope that you enjoy your meal, and most importantly, your summers!”

The campers applaud, and the meal resumes. Little Noah is still sniffling into his noodles, but the other boys are already making friends, throwing macaroni at one another and asking for seconds.

Scott and Stiles wake the boys up the next morning by blaring “Anaconda” through Stiles' portable speakers, loud and abrasive and hilarious, just like they were woken up in their camp days. They drag the boys from their bunks and outside for breakfast, then for a polar bear dip in the chilly lake.

“Okay boys, drop your towels! Minimum five minutes in the water, the get the hell out of there before hypothermia sets in. We want y'all awake and alert for your first day!”

Stiles is shouting at the bunk from the shore, as the boys timidly dip their toes into the icy water. It's a coveted Hale ritual, and it really does work. Even the drowsiest camper is wide-eyed after the polar bear dip.

“You're not going in? Hypocrite,” Scott remarks of Stiles, who is very pointedly overseeing the proceedings in a t-shirt and shorts, “Even I'm going to splash around a little.”

“Do you see this hair?” Stiles gestures wildly to his head, “I have already gelled these locks to perfection. I will not waste a good hairdo on being a good leader.”

“Suit yourself,” Scott shrugs, but when Stiles turns away Scott grabs him around the middle and carries him, squirming and protesting, to the edge of the water. With a final “sorry”, Stiles is unceremoniously tossed into the freezing lake.

The boys laugh and shiver while Stiles thrashes wildly underwater and emerges, fuming, like the gangly teenage Loch Ness monster.

“How dare you!” Stiles says, marching up towards Scott in mock rage, “my hair is ruined!”

Scott laughs, Stiles pulls him into the water too, and everyone gets a chilly wake up swim for five minutes before running out.

The cabin dries off on the beach, as other groups make the perilous plunge. Once everyone is dry, dressed, and in Stiles' case, re-coiffed, the counsellors lead them off for soccer.

That night, after all of the campers are asleep, Scott and Stiles sneak off, taking advantage of the campers-in-training who are forced to sleep in the cabins whenever counsellors request it. According to a whispered message from Kira on the soccer field, there's going to be an exclusive party in the woods.

“See, Scotty, this is what I've been talking about all these years! I knew counsellors had some kind of secret get togethers that the campers never got to hear about,” Stiles whisper-rants as the two boys tiptoe along the trail towards the woods, “remember when Cathy Garter showed up for breakfast all hungover and said she 'just had a headache'? Those were all lies!”

“Shhh!” Scott hushes the boy, finger to his lips, “I think I hear people talking. They must be over there.”

Scott and Stiles walk along the hiking trail, peering through the trees for the hiding place that must be around here somewhere. When Stiles spots the bright flame of a campfire, he drags Scott through some trees before they find the other counsellors, passing around beer and weed and singing campfire songs.

“Wolf Cubs!” Malia cries, getting up from the log she was sitting on and coming towards the two boys, clutching a beer in one hand, “welcome to our first day of camp party! Don't forget to thank Erica and Boyd for all the illegal stuff, which is really good by the way. And, uh, don't tell Derek about it. Cuz he'll probably confiscate everything.”

Scott sits next to Stiles on the log, grabs a beer for himself and waits for the joint to get passed around. He doesn't like to smoke much because of his asthma, but he feels like a grownup with all his friends, doing the counsellor things that were always such a mystery to him as a camper. He takes a drag when the weed comes around, and wow, this really is some good stuff.

Half an hour later, everyone is wasted. Lydia and Allison are making out against a tree, Erica and Malia are dancing around the fire, Kira is doubled over laughing at something Isaac said, and Boyd and Danny are quietly talking across the circle. Stiles is wasted out of his mind, just like Scott expected. From stories Stiles has told, he does not have a good tolerance for anything.

Scott is feeling pretty good himself. The light from the fire dances prettily in his eyes, the wind feels cool against his face, and everything is happening nice and slow. Even the sight of Derek coming through the opening in the trees only harshes his buzz a little, until he realizes that _Derek is coming through the opening in the trees!_

“Ahem,” The older counsellor says, and the party falls silent except for the crackling of the fire pit. Lydia and Allison break apart, Kira's laughter dies off, Stiles, oblivious to everything for the moment, examines a leaf he found on the ground. Derek looks around at what's going on, turns to Boyd, who seems to be the most sober of the group, and says “Do you have any weed left?”

Everyone is understandably relieved, and Derek takes a seat next to Scott, who passes him a joint. Stiles stumbles towards them a bit later, and spend a good couple minutes staring quizzically at Derek, before turning towards Scott, “What's the head counsellor doing here?” He slurs, “Isn't he s'posed to be, like, lecturing someone?”

“Oh my god, Stiles, sit down,” says Scott, embarrassed, as he gives Stiles his spot on the log, “Sorry Derek, this guy cannot handle his alcohol. He didn't mean to say that.”

“Oh, he probably did,” Derek chuckles, scooting over a bit to make room, “Talia makes sure I run a tight ship around the camp, since she's away from the grounds so much. I'm not actually that much of a smart ass when I'm off the job.”

Someone turns on some music from their iPod, everyone cheers, and everyone gets progressively inebriated. Erica and Boyd kiss, which was honestly a long time coming, during a heated game of truth or dare. Kira almost wanders off into the woods, Malia almost falls into the fire, and Isaac does spill beer all over his shirt and shorts.

It's probably two in the morning when Derek checks his watch, stands up, and announces, “Okay, everyone. Go to bed. You're all gonna regret this is four hours when you have to wake up.”

Scott groans with his spinning head in his hands; he'd forgotten they were responsible counsellors, having just entered their first week of camp. Thankfully, the drunk mind has little concern with the future, so Scott looks for Stiles as the others stumble out of the clearing. Someone, most likely Derek, puts out the fire and picks up the discarded bottles.

Scott finally finds Stiles behind one of the logs, mumbling incoherently into the ground. He can't tell which of the dark marks on Stiles' face are moles, and which are specks of mud. He pokes Stiles' side with his foot, which makes the boy on the ground groan, “Leave me 'loooone, I'm sleeping!”

“Stiles, we gotta get back t'the cabin,” Scott says in a frustrated whine, losing his balance a little and stumbling, “We're gonna be so so so hungover t'morrow, we gotta sleep it off.”

“Help me up, then,” Stiles says in defeat, offering up two pale hands for Scott to grab. Scott does, but instead of hauling himself to his feet, Stiles tugs Scott down with one swift pull. Scott shouts out as he lands, expecting to get a mouthful of dirt, but is cushioned by something soft, something squishy, something... Stiles?

“Well, that plan sure backfired,” Stiles whimpers from under Scott, wincing in pain. Scott tries to push himself off his friend, but his hand slips and he just tangles their limbs even worse. He realizes too late that his face is now an inch from Stiles' mole and mud-speckled face, Stiles' hazel eyes and cheekbones.

“Scotty?” Stiles mumbles breathily, eyes wide.

“Stop messing around, you two! Get back to your cabins!”

Derek is shouting at them from where he must have come back to find them, and even without looking up Scott knows that Derek is making his judgemental cabin inspection face.

On their way back to the cabins, Scott is conscious, even with the drugs and alcohol hindering his thinking, of Stiles' presence beside him, the way their shoulders brush as they stumble into one another on the uneven path.

“Um, Mr. Scott?”

Scott's entire head is throbbing, it's way too bright wherever he is, and his mouth is dry as a desert. To make it worse, some annoying person is trying to wake him up. Scott hides his head underneath his pillow and mumbles something that's supposed to sound like “go 'way, 'm sleeping!”

“Okay, but, Scott, sorry, uh, it's already breakfast and, uh, you're still asleep, and, Stiles won't even wake up. We're all really hungry. Please?”

It's with those words that Scott finally remembers where he is; in Cabin 4, surrounded by the starving boys he's supposed to have already woken up. Maybe getting wasted when you have to rise at sunup to herd around your clique of kids isn't such a good idea.

Scott sits up slowly, groaning as his stomach fights back in protest at the sudden movement. He thinks he might be sick.

Looking over to the bed next to him, Scott knows that Stiles is not going to be very happy either. He's sleeping in a pool of his own drool, and the two boys that are trying to shake him awake are failing desperately.

“Mm'kay, y'all,” Scott squints around the cabin, “Who wants to be counsellor in training and lead everybody to the mess hall and tell Derek, the tall one, that we're just going to need a few more minutes to join you for breakfast?”

Scott selects the first of many eager hands, and flops back onto his mattress when all the boys have left. Fuck, his head hurts. He hasn't been this hungover since the end of last summer when Stiles finally opened the rum he'd snuck to camp in his suitcase as a goodbye surprise for Scott on the last day. That had not been a fun ride home with his mom the next morning.

Despite his churning stomach and aching head, Scott throws on some basketball shorts and a tank top and psyches himself up for the act of waking Stiles up. He knows from experience that if Stiles does not want to be woken, it's about as hard as rousing a Snorlax.

“Stiles, wake up, for fuck's sake. You have to counsel. You have to camp counsel. Please don't abandon me with these kids for the day.”

Stiles just snores in response, so Scott gives up in frustration and goes to the bathroom, fills a cup with freezing cold water, and dumps it unceremoniously over Stiles' head. As expected, Stiles jolts awake, springing up into a sitting position and looking around in confusion and apprehension. Scott keeps waiting for the effects of a hangover to hit his best friend, but Stiles only looks at him with annoyance once he comes to his senses.

“Bro, not cool,” Stiles reprimands, wringing the water out of his hair, “You gotta let a guy sleep in when he's partied this hard.”

“Wait, you're not hungover at all?” Scott is standing in front of Stiles, clutching his empty cup in his hand, “That is so not fair. Or even logically possible, for that matter. You drank twice as much as I did!”

“I've got a gift,” Stiles shrugs, looking Scott over and taking in his bed head, squinting eyes, and slouched figure, “But I take it that you have neither the good genetics nor the good liver for the type of partying a Stilinski is born for.”

He pats Scott on the back as he springs nimbly to his feet, “It's okay, Scotty. I'll get Erica and Boyd to fix you up a real greasefest of a breakfast to make up for it. Bacon, sausage, ham, eggs, toast, the real deal.”

Stiles laughs as Scott's face turns visibly green.

In the mess hall, Derek is already halfway through saying something as Scott and Stiles walk in. They join their charges at Cabin 4's table, and all of the campers, even the fellow counsellors who are just as hungover, giggle at the pair of them. Stiles leans over and whispers to Noah, “Hey, kid, catch us up?”

“Well, uh, Derek just said that we're starting the Battle of The Cabins early this year, I dunno what that is thou-”

Noah is cut off my a whoop of joy from Stiles that he badly disguises as a cough. Derek, composed but exhausted-looking, gives Stiles a pointed look before continuing on with what he was saying.

“So throughout the next week we'll be doing all sorts of games and contests to decide which cabin is the best overall; egg races, swimming, musical performances, that kind of thing. Each contest your cabin wins earns you ten points. Then, on the last night, the counsellors will have to participate in a three-legged obstacle course to win forty points.”

“At the end of the week, I'll tell everyone who accumulated the most points overall, and who is the winner of the battle. Winning cabin gets seconds of every meal for the next two weeks, plus the counsellors from that cabin won't have to clean the toilets for that amount of time either. You're welcome.”

The kids cheer, the counsellors try to muster up some enthusiasm (everyone save Boyd and Stiles are still feeling the results of last night's party), and everyone digs into their breakfasts. Scott gulps down a full three cups of coffee before he starts to feel normal again, while Stiles watches with amusement.

“Dude, can you remember anything from last night?” Scott asks, under his breath, so as to avoid the eavesdropping of tiny ears, “Last thing I can think of is Erica and Boyd making out, which was hilarious. You?”

“Literally nothing,” Stiles admits, shrugging, “I have the worst alcohol tolerance ever in the history of the universe. Last I remember is literally showing up. It was a good party, though?”

“It was awesome! I think,” Scott says, grabbing a breakfast potato from Stiles' plate and nibbling at it, “I remember lots of booze and lots of fucking around... Oh, Derek showed up at one point, too. He didn't even snitch! What a weird dude.”

During the first activity period of the day, it seems everyone is honing their skills in preparation for the Battle of the Cabins. Allison and Lydia have their girls at the archery range, and those little warriors sure know how to fire. Malia and Kira have what is basically a girl band set up; they've already won the talent show at this point. Danny and Isaac's team... When they aren't sneaking off to the lake to watch Isaac try to beat his breath-holding record, or playing the new Pokemon game, the cabin seems intent on mastering the art of basket weaving. Scott would find it funny to see these teen boys weaving baskets, but he would honestly pay for one of them, that's how good they're turning out.

Scott looks around at the kids from his cabin; Noah, who still cries a lot, Alistair, who makes Noah cry a lot, Jonah and Joshua, the identical twins. There's Simon, who only ever wants to stay in the cabin and read, and Nick, who would spend the whole day on the soccer field if he could. Daniel and Tom are best friends and huge troublemakers (and remind Scott of a certain other inseparable duo), and Chad hasn't spoken more than a handful of words to anybody since camp started. There's another two or three boys that Scott doesn't even remember the names of. He isn't sure how they can manage to pull ahead in these challenges with such a motley crew.

Stiles seems to be thinking the same thing, because while the boys are busy splashing around in the lake after lunch, he spreads a towel for him and Scott to sit on, and starts strategizing.

“Okay, so we won't win in archery, talent, or arts and crafts. I know for sure that soccer and tug-of-war are ours for the taking, and c'mon, Scotty, that two legged race was made for us. Everything else is just pure luck!”

Scott watches Stiles rant and plan with a smile on his face. When they're at camp, Scott finds it hard to believe that they don't see one another during the school year. Scott and Stiles go perfectly together; they balance one another out. Stiles gets Scott to go out of his comfort zone, to actually have fun for once, and Scott keeps Stiles from killing himself during his antics. Even when they're away from camp, Stiles texts Scott incessantly, and they Skype almost every night, but it's just not the same as sitting next to each other, basking in the summer warmth and working as a team.

“Scott?” Stiles has one eyebrow raised, is waving a hand in front of Scott's eyes, “You dozed off there for a second, it's almost as though this Battle of The Cabins isn't the most important event in our Camp Hale career. C'mon man, what do you think?”

Scott looks to the so-called 'plan' that Stiles has drawn into the sand with a stick, “This is literally impossible to read, bro. You gotta improve your handwriting.”

“Why, you-” Stiles tackles Scott to the ground, straddles his chest, and pretends to punch him in the face with mock rage. Scott giggles, looks up into Stiles' face, and, oh shit, remembers something else from the night before. He remembers his face being this close to Stiles', seeing the moles on his face, looking into those brown eyes. Shit, shit shit, shit shit shit. Had they kissed?

He doesn't think so. Scott is pretty sure he would remember getting his smooch on with his best friend, even when he was drunk out of his mind. But he can't know for sure. Shit.

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott says after he's sat up again, “Are you sure you don't remember anything from last night?”

“Yeah, think so,” Stiles replies, looking curiously at Scott, “What? Did I do something mad embarrassing?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Scott assures him, “I just think I might have done something I shouldn't have last night. It's nothing.”

“Well, if everyone had a drunken orgy while I was passed out in the dirt, I don't want to hear about it because I will be super jealous and it will ruin my summer.”

Like that, everything is back to normal again. The boys laugh in the sand, plot their triumph at the Battle of the Cabin, and watch Alistair try and fail to drown Noah in the lake.

“Should I do something?” Scott asks after twenty seconds of dunking.

“Hold on, this is gonna be good,” Stiles replies, as Noah punches Alistair in the face, leaving an angry red mark on the bully's cheek, “Dude deserved that for a long time.”

The camp is visited by a rare summer rain after lunch that day, so everyone stays inside the mess hall to watch a movie instead of going for their activity period. Derek puts on The Avengers, the kids are satisfied for a couple of hours, so all the counsellors gather in the kitchens to hang out.

“I honestly can't believe how competitive these kids are,” Lydia complains to everyone, “I had a girl offer to rub poison ivy on all of the other campers so that they would be, and I quote, 'too itchy to even be there when we kick their butts at everything'. Who knew little girls could be so uncivilized!”

“You're one to talk,” Isaac shoots back, “Weren't you the one who released a bat into the boy's cabin when we were twelve because you knew Jackson Whittemore was terrified of them? Wasn't that the day before the swimming contest? And Jackson was so terrified of you that he refused to swim?”

“That is completely different,” Lydia protests as everyone laughs, “Jackson deserved it.”

“I find it hard to even get our campers to participate,” Danny admits, “They only do the basket weaving because we tell them they won't have to clean their cabin that night. Half of them are weirdly obsessed with baseball, like, literally, it's all they play, and the other half are apparently allergic to sunlight, cuz they stay inside as much as possible.”

Malia groans, “You two are lucky; you have the older kids. I have one girl who runs in circles over and over and over again until she gets dizzy, sits down for five minutes, and then does it some more. This other kid won't let go of Kira's leg; like, Kira had to walk around doing chores for twenty minutes yesterday with this kid attached to her leg.”

Stiles makes a show of leaning nonchalantly against the counter, sipping his hot chocolate, “Our team is not prepared to reveal our skills at this time so as to be better equipped to kick all your asses.”

This makes Scott laugh, and he elaborates, “Okay, we may not have any skills, but that doesn't mean we can't be the underdog who, against all odds, take the prize at the last moment. So watch your backs!”

“Three... Two... One... GO!”

Scott's heart is beating a mile a minute as the whistle blows, and he and Stiles leap forward, all three legs pumping in unison. Scott can see the other pairs of counsellors struggling beside them, tripping over one another's legs. They've been training for this three legged race for the last week; whenever the campers were at other activities, these two were tying their legs together with any material nearby and sprinting around the campgrounds. As they lost literally every other competition in the Battle of the Cabins, the pressure was on to win the 40 points that would give Cabin 4 the gold. Allison and Lydia were in the lead by 30 points, to nobody's surprise, and they posed a huge threat in this race. It was public knowledge that Allison and Lydia had some sort of telepathic link that enabled them to work in perfect sync at any time, and they’re giving a demonstration right now. Neck and neck with the boys, the girlfriends don’t even talk as they weave through the trees and skirt around patches of mud.

“C'mon, Scotty!” Stiles yells, as they approach the first obstacle, “Pump your fucking legs! I don’t care about your damn asthma!”

They manage to drag themselves towards the old tires that are lined up in rows in the soccer field at just about the same time as Lydia and Allison. _We probably look so stupid right now_ , Scott thinks to himself as he and Stiles try to hop like bunnies through the tubes, a hard enough feat when you aren't tied to another person, let alone when you are medically prohibited from long bouts of physical activity.

It's a close race around the pylons in a tight figure eight, limboing underneath ropes held by eager campers, and crawling through a kid's play tunnel. Then it's the final stretch on the beach, Scott's wheezing, and Lydia and Allison are still in the lead.

Scott and Stiles accelerate, the finish line visible at the dock. Scott can feel Stiles' heat beside him, hears his panting breath, reaches out to grab his hand in what he hopes Stiles will see as a burst of hope-filled adrenaline, and nothing more.

Stiles falters when Scott grabs his hand, and that's enough to send them tumbling, in the least graceful way possible, face-planting into the ground. Scott lifts his head just in time to see Allison and Lydia cross the finish line in all their glory.

It’s three minutes later and they’re still panting in a heap on the ground when the Wolf Cubs run up to them.

“Are you okay?” Tom asks, as the other boys crowd around the two counsellors.

“They held hands!” Alistair yells, pretending to barf.

“I need to pee.” says Simon, looking down at the book he snuck out onto the field.

With much grumbling and huffing, Stiles and Scott clamber to their feet to face the cabin.

“Sorry we lost,” Scott says bashfully, “Those girls were just too good.”

“That’s okay!” Noah exclaims, grabbing Scott by the arm, “It was really funny to see you guys fall down!”

Among the layered chatter, Scott and Stiles lock eyes and share a soft, albeit a little confused, glance. Scott wishes he could analyze every millisecond of this glance, find some intricate calculation that can tell him how much he reads into the look and how much is real and whether or not Stiles is doing the same. Instead, the milliseconds are over and the kids need their attention and Scott will have to put it out of his mind.

“Why don’t we get you guys to the awards ceremony? I heard a rumour that after the medals are handed out, everyone gets hot dogs and cake!”  
  
Stiles’ words are enough to send their cabin into a frenzy, and the two counselors, out of breath, can hardly keep up as they follow the gaggle to the mess hall.

They get last place - the boys forget to tell their charges that and instead pretend that everyone under third place got the same crappy plastic participation award. At least the hot dog and cake distribution quota is unbiased, and Cabin 4 is sufficiently stuffed by the time movie night starts - How To Train Your Dragon.

Stiles and Scott sit next to each other in the back of the mess hall, Stiles loudly munching the kettle corn he’s supposed to be sharing with Scott but is hogging all the same. Scott doesn’t mind - he’s way too nervous to even think about eating. Why did Stiles fall over when he took his hand? Why does he care so much about what was probably an oddly-timed trip over a rock? Scott feels like a topsy turvy middle schooler who has just had his first slow dance, and he doesn’t quite like this. He wishes he could be like Stiles - upfront about his feelings and brutally honest.

It’s about halfway through the movie when Scott gets too fed up with this permanent cliffhanger feeling in his heart, fed up with watching Stiles and knowing they will both go home in a few weeks and start at different universities and that Stiles doesn’t feel the same way, can’t possibly be feeling this aching need. Abruptly, and loud enough to turn some heads away from the movie, Stiles’ included, Scott stands up and trips his way out of the mess hall into the blissfully cold night.

He jogs down to the beach, where he runs out of places to go and kicks his feet in the placid water, watching the ripples vibrate across the lake. Staring out onto the water, Scott doesn’t notice the person behind him until that person is placing a timid hand on his shoulder and whispering into the darkness, “Scotty? You okay, bro?”

Scott jumps in surprise and turns around to face Stiles, who is wearing a look of concern that Scott, even in crisis, finds oh-so-cute. He says nothing but invites Stiles to sit next to him, sprawled cross legged on the sand. The two boys say nothing for a few aching minutes until Stiles finally speaks.

“No, really, are you okay? Because I don’t know what’s wrong and if it’s something I did, or if you’re just bummed out from losing today, I want to know, I want to help. Even though I only see you two months in the year, you’re my best friend and it’s totally weird in a bad way to see you upset like this.”

His words come out in a barely comprehensible flurry and Scott thinks he might even feel some spit on his cheek, that’s how fast Stiles is talking. It’s weird in a bad way - keeping things from Stiles, even if those things could possibly drive a wedge between the friendship they’ve already built.

“I like you,” Scott says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve liked you for the past who knows how many summers but I only realized it, like, a week ago. And even if you don’t feel the same, I, uh, needed you to know. I’ve been feeling like I’m the middle of an asthma attack I just can’t get rid of, and I hate it.”

Scott readies himself for the awkward um’s and but’s of the letdown he knows is about to come out of Stiles’ mouth, so he’s understandably surprised when Stiles starts to giggle. Like, literally giggle.

“That was it? Oh man, I thought you were dying from some secret disease or didn’t want to be my friend anymore or something like that! I’m sorry for laughing, but it’s just so preposterous that we have both been going through this summer fawning over the other like a lovesick puppy without realizing that we both feel the same way!

Scott feels stupid, that’s how long it takes him to register what his best friend has just said, but when he does his eyes widen which makes Stiles giggle even more and then he’s lunging at the other boy and wrapping him in a bearhug, he’s so glad.

They pull back and Stiles grabs Scott’s face, smiling at his endearingly. “I am very glad that I am finally able to do this,” he says, before leaning forward and gently kissing Scott. Scott feels like the annual Fourth of July fireworks show got set off early by accident.

They boys quickly learn that kissing one another is better than video games and pizza combined, but a sandy butt is not. They’re out of breath and more than a little dizzy with the excitement of it all, but Scott finally pulls away.

“We should probably, um, go back to the mess hall. The movie’s probably almost over,” Scott says, instantly hating himself, “not that I want to stop.”

“Neither do I,” Stiles, beautifully flushed, glances down at his watch, “But this is good? We’re… good?”  
  
“Definitely,” Scott smiles as he hauls himself to his feet, “To be continued…”  
  
“Oh my god,” Stiles stands up too, brushes shoulders with Scott, “Please do not get all cheeseball Nicholas Sparks with me now that we’ve kissed.”

They start to walk back from the water’s edge, both hyper aware of the other’s heat. Scott is hardly paying any attention to where he is going, which is why he trips over a rock outside of one of the administrator’s cabin and gets a face full of dirt.

“That was graceful,” Stiles quips, but he is quickly distracted from his in-pain friend by the rock that sent Scott sprawling. Scott notices that not many things have been changed by their mutual attraction.

“Dude this is totally a hollow rock!” Stiles shakes the not-rock and something falls out, “Oh my god, whichever dolt is staying in this cabin totally bought a stupid key-hider for their room.”

They share a good chuckle until the words _key_ and  _room_ click, and then they’re unlocking the door and tumbling onto the bed in a mess of limbs and golden opportunities.

                               

“This,” Scott says between kisses, “Is… The best… Idea… You have… Ever had.”

He’s on top of Stiles, glances down to admire his co-counsellor and is awash in possibilities. He decides to attack Stiles’ weak spot, his ticklish neck that usually makes Stiles giggle but, with the addition of a wet mouth, is eliciting the same groans Stiles makes on pizza night - except Scott doesn’t usually get a boner on pizza night when Stiles moans like that.

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” Scott feels a blush rise to his already reddened cheeks when Stiles looks down at his very obvious predicament.

“Honestly, I’m in the same boat,” Stiles says, gesturing down to his jeans.

Now, Scott isn’t usually the type of guy to just go for it; that’s Stiles’ thing. In spite of this, overcome with a mixture of relief and lust and residual adrenaline from their race, Scott goes up on his knees until he’s straddling Stiles’ hips, reaches down between them, and undoes Stiles’ pants. He moves to stick his hands ungracefully down Stiles’ boxers…

When Derek, tired from herding children around all evening and frustrated with his two counsellors who had some kind of fight and left him to escort their charges to Cabin 4, opens his curiously unlocked door and finds Scott and Stiles almost sex-ing on his bed.

“Get _the fuck_ out,” is all he needs to say before the boys are scrambling off the bed, doing up pants and throwing on shirts, and bolting out the door into the cold night air, both boners killed almost instantaneously.

They keep running - because who can trust Derek _not_ to chase after them - until they reach their own cabin and lean, panting like they just lost the Battle of the Cabins all over again, against the outer wall.

“That was close,” Scott breathes.

Stiles can’t help but reply - “I was close!”

 

 

There are two weeks left in the summer, and Stiles and Scott reside in a honeymoon state that is both unprofessional and totally gross. They do an alright job of remaining their normal bro selves in front of the kids, but behind the closed doors of the counsellor lounge, the boys have taken over the couch that was once known as Allison and Lydia's make out spot.

And make out, they do. After the awkward encounter with Derek in his cabin, the two have resigned themselves to avoiding any dick stuff, due to an overwhelming lack of privacy and an underlying fear of being walked in on once again. 

This didn't limit Scott and Stiles, so much as challenge them to push the line between PDA and flat-out dry humping in front of their peers. Looking back, Scott will probably feel incredible amounts of guilt, but until that sinks in he ignores it. Two weeks is nothing, a blink of the eye, and while he goes off to Beacon Hills Community College to learn how to be a nurse, having given up hope on all of his better choices that wait-listed him, and running out of time to choose, he can't see Stiles for another year, with a couple of visits in between if he can scrape together the money.

 ****It's a bright, sunny morning, and Scott feels a sense of déja-vu as he and Stiles lounge on beach towels, watching their charges freeze their butts of in the lake. Stiles has been practically vibrating all morning with what Scott guesses is some sort of secret or surprise for Scott, and Scott finally gives up on waiting and asks, "Okay, 'fess up. What's got you all excited?"  
  
As if on cue, Stiles pulls a slightly bent envelope out of his short pocket, beams with enthusiasm, and thrusts the letter towards Scott.

"A letter came from a university today for you - I snagged it from the mail bin before you saw it. I'll have to make sure of two things before I tell you my even bigger news, so go ahead and open it before I pee myself from the suspense!"

Scott tentatively opens the letter, unsure why Stiles would be so excited about a potential wait list acceptance but going along with his urging anyways. He unfolds the letter, has to focus his eyes a couple of times because, he admits it, he is nervous to see if he can go somewhere better - no offence to Mama McCall's community college education.

"Dear Mr. McCall," he reads out loud, "We are pleased to accept you for the Fall 2015 semester at the California State University in the field of Nursing. Please find enclosed your administration infor-" 

Scott is cut off my a huge bear hug from Stiles, who, in a sentence that sounds like a word, almost screams, "Thatismyuniversity! Youhavetogo! Universityboyfriends! Itllbesocute!"

Scott is so stunned by both his acceptance and Stiles' confession that all he manages to get out is, "Wait, we're officially boyfriends?"


End file.
